Memento Mori
by EpicGlitter
Summary: For her favorite blue-haired rebel's eighteenth birthday, Rachel Amber got her the perfect gift!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **If possible, I strongly recommend listening to the Memento Mori soundtrack while reading, and listening to each song when it comes up in the fic. Spotify playlist link (remove spaces): spoti . fi /2HryvN5

**Song: The Runaways –** **You Drive Me Wild**

**Saturday, January 28, 2012**  
**Portland, Oregon**

* * *

Throwing open the metal doors with a jarring __clang!__, Chloe's loud, joyous laughter echoed across the packed parking lot as she walked outside and leaned against the brick wall. Behind her, the sound of guitar riffs and an alto voice belting lyrics poured through the still-closing door of The Polaris into the chilly night air.

By the time Rachel caught up, speeding past the door before pausing to search the lot, Chloe had stopped cackling and pulled her Firewalk-branded Zippo out to light her cigarette.

"Looking for someone?" the blue-haired punk called out, casually blowing out smoke.

"That. Was. Fucking. AMAZING!" Rachel replied, pumping her fists as she ran to where Chloe stood, puffs of visible breath trailing behind her.

"__Yeah__you are. Also: a pro! Do __not __tell me that was your first time stage diving?"

"It won't be the last," her girlfriend replied with a wink, leaning in for a quick kiss before slipping a hand into the taller girl's jacket pocket to pull her pack of cigarettes back out. "We are __so __coming back for the next show!"

"Need a light?" the punk asked with a cocky smile, expertly flipping the lighter's cap open and sparking its flame in one fluid motion.

"Hella smooth, Chloe Price," she replied, her hazel eyes reflecting the newly-lit ember from her smoke.

"I try," she shrugged nonchalantly as they each brushed off and zipped up their jackets.

Chloe lived for nights like this.

__This __pulled her through the invasion of Sergeant Step-Ass into her home, her on-and-off relationship with Blackwell suspension, her best friend's radio silence, and the endless march of odd jobs she spent each weekday hunting for.

Give her a punk show - bright lights, massive crowds, glorious hearing damage – and none of __that __shit mattered anymore!

Give her a smokin' hot special someone to share it with, and the memory could keep her going for __weeks__.

Even without a little chemical stress relief, even when it was her turn to drive, __this __was enough.

Sometimes the baggage fell away, and Chloe could just __be___. _In the moment. Sometimes that moment was all booming bass and pounding heart and just gotta let go, just __thrash___!_

Sometimes it was soft lips, dancing tongues, the air in their own little world tingling with electric desire.

For her, the worst part about feeling alive was knowing it was __only __for a moment.

Walking back to the truck, she felt the adrenaline, thrill, and joy beginning to drain from her.

"Hey," Rachel said, her eyes fixed on the punk's deflated expression, "what's on your mind?"

"I just… do we really have to go back?" she replied, breaking contact to lean back against the driver's side door and light up another smoke. "You know some people in L.A., right?"

"I wish we could make our escape," Rachel said, running her hand along Chloe's jacket sleeve and meeting her eyes, "And next year, as soon as I graduate, we will. Waiting sucks, but it'll be __so __worth it when we finally-"

"I know," she replied with a bitter sigh, taking another long drag and slowly blowing the smoke from the corner of her lips as she passed the cigarette, "I just don't want tonight to end, you know? And next May is… it's like __forever___…_"

"Speaking of forever," said Rachel, a smoldering glow returning to her eyes, "I got you something. A little surprise."

"Oh…?" Chloe replied, raising an eyebrow suggestively despite her look of resignation as the shorter girl passed the smoke back to her.

"Open your hand."

"What the actual…? Rachel-"

"Come onnnn!"

"Can you just-"

"Chloe, just… trust me, OK?"

"Rachel, I..." She begrudgingly held out her left hand.

"Thank you," her girlfriend said, pressing a small, rectangular paper into the punk's open palm.

Blue eyes peered down skeptically. What the hell…? Rachel got her, what, a check? Some sorta certificate? How was this gonna make going "home" any less agonizing?

Then again… who knows? Maybe liquor stores and head shops offer gift certificates?

Chloe had seen stranger things, for sure.

Bringing it up close enough to see the bold black print against a lavender background, she read:

[Roberta]  
[Black Labrys Tattoos]  
[Portland, OR 97211]  
[11:00 A.M.]  
[Sat. 3/10/12]  
[Value: $850]

"Rachel, what is this…?" She asked, her brow knotted in confusion as she tossed her smoke to the ground and stamped it out, "That's… that's right before my birthday…?"

"Exactly," she replied, beaming, "You keep saying you want that tattoo, and I think your design will look hella good… so really, kinda selfish of me. Would've been __on __your birthday, if the shop stayed open Sundays."

"Rach, you… me… tattoo?" She absently reached under her beanie to scratch at her scalp as her gears finally started turning.

"Happy Birthday! My last photo shoot paid pretty well, so I got you… a tattoo appointment!" Rachel said, opening her arms dramatically and bowing at the waist as if on stage, "Ta-da!"

"And a gift certificate? For a tattoo? They do that?"

"I think what you __mean __to say is-"

"AMAZEBALLS! Oh holy fuck, thank you so much!"

Chloe pulled her close and met her lips, caressing her cheek with one hand and wrapping the other arm around her back. A pleased, longing groan rose from Rachel's throat as she slipped her tongue between the punk's parted lips.

"Get a room!" a woman called out from a passing car, as dozens of people began to pour out of the venue's metal doorway.

Still making out, they each raised one defiant arm to flip her off.

"I __so __wish we could right now..." Rachel finally said in a low, sensual whisper when their lips eventually parted.

"We'll be back in March," Chloe replied, catching her breath and waggling her eyebrows suggestively as she reached for her keys, "How else am __I __gonna get up before noon? __Obviously __we need a motel, or whatever."

"_We_?" her girlfriend said with a smirk, making her way around to the passenger side door.

"Hey, the week after we met, you didn't just ask me to draw you a dragon," Chloe replied as both girls climbed in, "You asked for a dragon __tattoo___. _You in, or what?"

"Fuck yes!"

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**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading! This is the end of Chapter 1. Please click the pull-down menu to read the next chapter. Memento Mori is completed, with five chapters in total. Thanks again!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **This chapter deals with grief, (past) death/loss, and includes very brief/vague/passing mention of suicidal ideation. Spotify playlist link for this fic (remove spaces): spoti . fi /2HryvN5

**Song: Star Amerasu + StormMiguel Florez – Looking**

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__Chloe raised her hand to shield her eyes from the painfully intense white light shining from somewhere above and ahead of her.__

__What the shit!__

__That hurt!__

__Where was she, and where the hell was Rachel…?__

__Holding her hand in position, her eyes began to adjust, and she could see the large, empty warehouse space several feet below the stage she was standing on. The instruments, sound equipment, band, mic stand – it was all gone.__

__She'd never seen The Polaris like __this __before.__

__It was deathly silent, and the crowd was nowhere to be seen.__

__With no one here, a stage dive would be a one-way ticket to a cracked skull, she'd bet anything.__

__Wonder what the obit would look like?__

__Before Chloe could weigh the likelihood of anyone __actually __dying this way – she'd have to look that up later – her hand began to slip, and the stage light made her wince.__

"__Sorry about that, sweetheart," a familiar voice called out as he stepped through the metal door on the far end of the building. The light began to dim as he steadily walked across the room.__

"__Fu- I mean… Dad?"__

__Her shoulders and jaw tightened as she struggled to keep the conflicted surge of relief and apprehension at bay.__

__She never knew when some raven jackass might swoop in, or when William(?) might disappear.__

"__That was __almost __a dollar for the swear jar," he said with his usual good-natured laugh, "It's me, Chloe. Do you want a hand getting down?"__

"__Pretty sure ___mom___ gave up on my 'college fund,'" Chloe muttered, crouching at the edge of the stage before lowering herself to the floor, and getting a small thrill from the drop.__

__No injuries, this time.__

__Crossing her arms as she raised her voice loud enough to echo in the cavernous space, she continued with a tone of defensive sarcasm,"Been a while. Let me guess: Cross-dimensional business trip? Appointment- no, silly me, why would __you __need a doctor? ...picking someone up from the grocery store? That's it, isn't it?"__

"__That's my Chloe," he said, unshaken, opening his arms wide to offer a hug, "If the wisecracks help keep you afloat, honey, then I'd listen to them all day. I love you."__

__That… OK, that got her.__

__His voice was not distorted this time, ___and___ there were no cars in sight.__

__He actually seemed real – like her earliest dreams of him. Either way, she __needed __to believe he was.__

__Stepping into her dad's embrace, her body began to shake as she murmured, "I love you, too, but… ____I ____don't understand. It's been over a year and I thought-"__

"__Big weekend ahead, dear," he replied, breaking contact to begin walking back towards the door, and gesturing for Chloe to join him.__

__Walking alongside her father, she looked over to him, quietly studying his profile.__

__His face, his eyes, his complete aversion to buttoning-up those goofy-ass plaid shirts he always wore– he hadn't changed a bit.__

__But she had. And not just by finally growing as tall as him, either.__

"__Well, yeah. Now when I fu- if I screw up, I'll get tried as an adult," she said with an empty laugh, hanging her head as she added, "I'm still stuck in Arcadia Bay, Dad. Suspended from Blackwell, again. Rachel saved me from total oblivion, but… Hate to tell you, your kid's a screw-up. If you could see me now, you-"__

"__I __do __see you, Chloe. It's me. And I'm proud of you. Nope- don't try to talk me out of it!"__

"__What's there t-"__

"__We don't have much time," he said, stopping near the door to face her as he continued, "Chloe, I want you to know I love you. And I know it's hard for you and your mother. I know you're still hurting. But I'm glad you and Rachel are there for each other, and your spirit is so strong…"__

__Gesturing broadly to the stage and the expansive room, he continued, "You live boldly, you love ___'_hella' __deeply, and I couldn't be more proud to be your dad."__

"__I also know," he added, "why you're getting that tattoo."__

"__So you want me to cancel…?"__

__Shaking his head, her dad replied, "I'm honored, Chloe. Maybe it's… not my style," he said with a chuckle, "but it's yours. I want you to be yourself. I want you to do whatever helps you heal. Just… be careful, and make sure your mother's sitting down when she finds out."__

__Both Prices laughed as William pushed open the door, revealing not a parking lot, but an endless expanse of stars in the space beyond its frame.__

"__Will I see you again?" Chloe asked, her eyes wide with awe.__

"__Not like this, sweetie," he said, wrapping his arms gently around her as they both tried, ineffectually, to fight back tears, "But I'll wait for you at journey's end."__

"__Dad, you're such a dork," she replied with a sniffle, "… I'll miss you."__

"__I'll miss you, too."__

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**Author's Note: **This is the end of Chapter 2. Please click the drop-down menu and select Chapter 3 to continue the story!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **This chapter includes very brief/vague/passing mention of a past suicide attempt. Also implied reference to sex/intimacy (not directly in text).Spotify playlist link for this fic (remove spaces): spoti . fi /2HryvN5

**Song: Girlyman – The Shape I Found You In**

**Saturday, March 10, 2012**  
**Portland, Oregon**

* * *

"Dad…? Please, don't go," Chloe mumbled, her dampened eyes still closed as a mournful whimper escaped her lips. Her hand reached forward from under the covers, grasping at his memory before falling back against the sheets.

"Just me, love," Rachel said, her voice smooth and reassuring. Lying behind her on the bed, she gently wrapped her arms around the bluenette and kissed her shoulder.

"Mmm… what…?" she responded, her eyelids slowly lifting as she adjusted to the hazy morning glow drifting in between the motel room's closed curtains.

Feeling her lover's soft skin against her back, and her lithe arms holding her close, sent a shiver through Chloe's whole body as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

For a fleeting moment, she was eased back into the waking world with only comfort, warmth, and love. She felt so __connected__, so __trusting___. _It was such a rare respite, and part of her just wanted to hold on.

Yet when that first moment passed, every muscle in her body suddenly tensed.

Something inside her urgently warned her to run out of the room. __Now___._

Nudity laws be damned, this was an emergency!

Chloe knew that getting close to anyone, even this far into their second year together, was a mistake. If she let anyone in, let them see the dead dad dreams and the wrist scars and the fucking vulnerability, it would come back to bite her in the ass.

Count on it.

Everybody lies, no exceptions.

And, as the universe kept telling her, sooner or later everybody __leaves__.

"You awake?" the same disarmingly alluring voice whispered into her ear, as Rachel removed one arm and backed away a little, lightly rubbing Chloe's shoulders and upper back with her free hand. "Wanna talk it out?"

Patient words and a gentle touch pulled her back from the edge, and she relaxed.

Well, mostly. Lying naked in her gorgeous girlfriend's arms did not exactly equal "relaxed."

Especially after last night, in this bed…

Shit, right! Rachel asked her a question!

"Uh, um, yeah," Chloe stammered, carefully flipping around to face her and slowly tracing the curve of her shoulder with her finger.

Oh, damn, her eyes were so mesmerizing…

She needed to think strai- er, yeah, no. Clearly. She needed to think clearly.

"I'm good. I'm awake." - she's so fucking hot how can Chloe even…? - "Thanks for, you know, the touchy feely wakey stuff. That, uh, helped."

__Nailed it___!_

Seeing Rachel's kind yet concerned expression, she slowed her breathing and listened to the low hum of the heating system. Little tricks she'd picked up to pay attention when either her mind or her libido wanted to be an asshole, and her heart was all *disapproving scowl*.

She didn't __want __to be an inveterate hornball.

Not when her riot grrl co-conspirator, her punk rock angel, had something important to say.

"Chloe, if you don't want to talk about it, I won't push," Rachel said, a soothing and encouraging intonation woven through her words, "But you were crying, __hard__, and calling for-"

She nodded, and Rachel continued.

"You were calling for your dad. It's like someone turned the clock back to when we first met- that morning in my room? Asleep and inconsolable? It was like __that__."

"Yeah, the last time was sophomore year. Uh, well, my first go at sophomore year," she replied with a quiet, self-deprecating laugh, "But I saw him… at The Polaris, actually," with a whisper, she added, "and he saw me."

"So your old man's a thrasher now? Must run in the family," her girlfriend said, raising one eyebrow for effect and drawing a sad smile from the melancholy punk. Slipping her free hand into Chloe's and intertwining their fingers, she continued, "Did he say anything?"

A crease formed across Chloe's forehead as she tried to remember, but her memory was clouded and most details of the dream seemed to be lost in the thick veil of mental fog.

"I can't remember," she replied, "but if it comes to me… can we talk then?"

"Definitely," Rachel said, "For real. Let me know."

"I will."

They stayed in bed quietly cuddling for about half an hour. A few times, Rachel gazed thoughtfully into her eyes, as if she had another question.

Chloe was grateful she didn't ask.

Not counting a certain soft-spoken pirate who sailed out of her life over three years ago, who else could she just __be __with, even or __especially __when she was a little messed up inside?

Being silent together was worlds away from crowdsurfing and surviving the mosh pit, but it was exactly what Chloe needed right then. The corners of her lips turned up in a loving smile as she brushed a loose strand of blonde hair out of Rachel's face and breathed a sigh of relief.

__**BEEP!-BEEP!-BEEP!-BEEP! BEEP!-BEEP!-BEEP!-BEEP!**__

Both girls jumped as Rachel's alarm went off. She quickly crossed the room to mash the [OFF] button while Chloe slowly dragged herself up from the bed.

The sleepy punk moved __much __faster when her girlfriend suggested taking a shower together, but it turned out pretty damn awkward. Reality came crashing in, like it always did, this time via loud shaky-ass sliding-glass doors and the tiniest shower/bath stall ever. Trying to playfully lather up or rinse each other off in the cramped space just got tedious, and fooling around was a no-go.

Rachel laughed it off as she got dressed, while Chloe grumbled as she pulled on her spiked bracelet, bullet necklace, blue beanie, and other daily armor. By the time they packed up and checked out, however, her mood began to lift again.

Climbing back into the truck, they stopped in a local donut shop for breakfast. Through a highly effective combo of teasing and flirtation, Rachel nudged her to drink lots of water, and congratulated her for carefully following the tattoo artist's other recommendations. Among them, staying sober overnight and into the morning was the biggest buzzkill.

Her girlfriend very convincingly assured her that it'd be worth it, to keep the tattoo looking good.

Well-hydrated and sated with the best donuts she'd had in a long time, Chloe felt excitement beginning to stir inside her.

The morning's sobfest, that brief re-emergence of abandonment fears, and the shower fiasco were all behind her now.

What lay ahead, was Session 1 for her full-sleeve tatt- a gift from her amazing girlfriend.

Fuck yes!

The day she'd been looking forward to, preparing for, and daydreaming about for over a month was finally here!

Once a week, she'd sacrificed her wake-'n'-bake hour, using the time to research what to expect and how to prepare. She even bought the lotion her artist recommended three whole days before the appointment! Weeks of pretending not to hate step-fucker as much, covering up various illicit odors, not getting arrested or cited even __once__, and returning to her room by curfew had cleared the way for a birthday trip to Portland.

The time had come!

They'd made it!

Standing outside Black Labrys Tattoos with one arm over Rachel's shoulder, the gift certificate clutched triumphantly in her other hand, Chloe jumped on her heels and grinned from ear to ear.

"You're like an excited puppy… it's so damn cute!" Rachel teased.

"I can't believe we're finally doing this!"

"You ready?"

"Pfft, I was __born __ready!"

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**Author's Note: **This is the end of Chapter 3. Please click the drop-down menu to continue the story with Chapter 4. Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

****Author's Note: ****This chapter mentions needles in the context of getting a tattoo, but does not get super graphic. Also includes very brief/vague/passing mention of a past suicide attempt, death, and grief. Spotify playlist link for this fic (remove spaces): spoti . fi /2HryvN5

**Song1 (play at chapter start): The Butchies – She's So Lovely**

**Song2 (play at "mellow… singer-songwriter dealie"): Ani DiFranco – Falling Is Like This**

* * *

Stepping into the Black Labrys, Chloe felt at home for the first time she could remember.

Over the stereo system, punk rock frontwomen sang, shouted, and screamed loudly enough for her to rock out, but not to drown out conversation.

The music made the her heart leap as she gazed in wonder at her surroundings.

The large room was painted black, with framed prints of the artists' work lining the side walls from the front counter on back. Just as she started to daydream about her own drawings hanging there someday, Chloe noticed the three large flags covering most of the back wall. Nodding to herself, she instantly recognized them as the lesbian, bisexual, and transgender Pride flags.

Plastered haphazardly throughout the front "waiting area" above the couches, there were flyers for an anarchist book fair, a queer and trans self-defense class, and a feminist bike repair collective. Stacks of similar stickers, zines, and brochures sat on the front counter.

Really fucking impressive!

No idea how Rachel found this place, but so far… it was __perfect___!_

Chloe's eyes rested on a small poster immediately to her right as she stepped in. Featuring a comic-style drawing of an anatomical heart and a closed hand, its all-red text read:

[YOUR HEART IS A MUSCLE]  
[THE SIZE OF YOUR FIST]  
[KEEP LOVING]  
[KEEP FIGHTING]

What would it take for them to let her take this one home when she left?

"Let's go, Price – it's not polite to stare!" Rachel said with a laugh, elbowing the wide-eyed punk in the ribs as they approached the front counter.

"First time?" the person behind the counter asked with a knowing smile. "Name's Lex, they/them pronouns. Welcome to the Black Labrys! How can I help you?"

The person's short, gelled, spiky green hair brightly contrasted their black leather jacket and smooth brown skin- they couldn't be more than a couple years older than Chloe. Their warm, welcoming voice didn't quite match the deep circles under their eyes and slightly weary expression, but she wasn't about to ask.

"We have an appointment!" Chloe replied, smacking the certificate onto the counter cheerfully.

"Both of us, for eleven," Rachel added, bumping the taller girl's hip with her own as she slid an appointment card across the counter.

"Great! Chloe, you're with Roberta. And Rachel, we have you booked with…Natali! They're both in, so hang out up front for a second and I'll call you to the back, OK?"

"Sounds good!" Chloe all but shouted before taking a seat on the couch, Rachel immediately jumping into her lap.

Still grinning through their first few kisses, they nearly got carried away by their sliding tongues, panting breaths, and grasping hands. Lex called out three, maybe four times before they finally heard and followed the bemused green-haired punk to the area behind the counter.

Blushing, Rachel walked into her booth first and greeted Natali with a hug, though they'd never met. The petite, heavily tattooed white woman introduced herself and pulled out her iteration of the dragon design as Rachel sat down.

Chloe entered the next booth over, which was separated by a waist-high barrier. Striding into her booth with maximum swagger, she offered Roberta a firm handshake and pulled her in for an entirely bro-tesque pat on the back. The stocky, broad-shouldered, also heavily tattooed white woman returned the gesture in kind, flashing a jovial smile and introducing herself.

They'd never met, outside of emails, but Chloe felt an immediate sense of… kinship?

Or something like that. Everything about the artist screamed __badass__.

Like, Chloe immediately wanted to get a beer with her and talk shit.

Why couldn't there be a few Robertas in Arcadia Bay?

Questions went quickly, since they'd covered a lot of ground over email. The age issue was a bit of a snag- while Rachel's forged signature on the parental permission form was accepted without comment, Chloe had completely forgotten hers. It took a __lot __of convincing to get Roberta to go ahead without it on the day __before __her eighteenth birthday. But when her girlfriend poured on the charisma, and Chloe showed off all she'd learned about tattoo healing, the artist relented.

Within half an hour, they were set to get started. The artists' black nitrile gloves were on, the ink was laid out, and the tattoo guns were at the ready.

Only __now__, did the concept of pain occur to Chloe.

She wasn't afraid, and that was the problem. She was just worried she'd have a… weird reaction. Might freak out the artist, or worse, Rachel.

Of course, she did her best not to let any concerns show. She genuinely felt confident, overjoyed, and excited, too, so she focused on those feelings to push the doubt away.

The tattoo gun buzzed, and Roberta began to position Chloe's hand and wrist just right, when the artist paused.

Speaking quietly enough not to be heard in the next booth, she said, "It's not my job to pry here, but, you OK kid?"

Having removed all her bracelets during their earlier chat, including her favorite spiked bracelet, Chloe internally winced at the question. She'd prepared for so many possibilities, but not for someone to ask about those faded scars.

"Yeah. I mean, the first one's just from skateboarding. The second one… Well, it is what it is," she replied, shifting in her seat and lifting her chin towards Rachel's booth, "She's helped a lot. I haven't… you know… since I met her."

Her body shuddered at the memory of those unbearably rough months before Rachel came into her life, but Roberta's kind words reeled her back into the present moment.

"Glad to hear that," the artist replied, her voice warm and encouraging, "If you ever need some help, you reach out to us OK? Reach out to __someone__. This is a community shop. We see queer youth struggling, we don't look the other way. Do whatever we can."

Chloe nodded, moved by her offer. "Uh, thanks. That's… uh. I can see why Rachel chose this place."

That whole thing was… weird… but oddly reassuring?

She wasn't sure what to think, really. She wasn't used to anyone other than Rachel or Joyce giving a damn about her, and for once it didn't feel like complete bullshit.

But she was already full-up on feels today. And she __really __wanted to get on with the tattoo!

"You ready?," Roberta asked. "No shame if you need a sec."

"No, I'm good. Let's do this!"

Once again, the tattoo gun buzzed, and-

Well __that __hurt like hell!

The sharp sting jolted her senses, and kept going.

She was alive, sure as shit – you've got to be alive to feel anything so intensely, right?

The sensation felt almost like… not pleasure, exactly. It hurt, a __lot__, but something else was going on inside her too, slowly chipping away at the walls she'd built up to keep the grief at arms' length. She didn't know how to describe that other feeling, not yet, or whether it should worry her.

As the design spread up her forearm, vines and roots and ribbon taking shape in black ink, the pain didn't go away. But she __almost __got used to it. Getting lost in the music seemed to help. A lot of good fucking bands, some she'd never heard of.

Yeah, she'd have to ask about their playlist sometime.

She responded with a "yes" every time Roberta asked if she was OK and if she wanted to keep going.

Her answers were mostly true, too.

Five hours and two smoke breaks later, Rachel's dragon tattoo was finished, while the permanent, black outline of Chloe's more elaborate design was complete up to her elbow. The last half hour had taught her that some areas hurt __way __more than others, but she was still in high spirits.

"That looks __sick__," Chloe said approvingly as the shorter girl proudly showed off her ink just before the artist wrapped plastic over it, securing it to her leg with medical tape.

"Not looking so bad yourself," she replied with a wink, admiring her forearm, "Could you hear us over there?"

"Not over the music," the punk replied, suddenly realizing she hadn't thought much about her girlfriend's experience here. "Why, you OK?"

"Never better!" Rachel said, laughing as they both left the booths and walked outside for another break. "Good music, eye candy in the next booth over," with a sly wink, she continued, "And no one's giving us shit for being together. A girl could get used this! How about you?"

"Rach, this is place is fucking amazeballs!" She said excitedly, "I love everything about it! I wish we never had to leave!"

She was still __mostly __telling the truth. The Black Labrys was, in fact, fucking amazeballs. Chloe felt more and more comfortable as the hours passed, and she was blown away by the fact this was all a __gift___. _Rachel __planned __all this. For her.

No way did she deserve it. But she mentally chased away that unworthy feeling __fast__, focusing on the slight breeze against her bare arms and completing her one-hand, no-look Zippo trick as she first lit her girlfriend's cigarette, then her own.

"Hey, for the next few hours, we don't," Rachel said, kissing her on the cheek before taking another drag, "I just knew you'd be right at home here!"

After their break, they returned to the booth, where Roberta had set up a "girlfriend chair." As the tattoo gun buzzed along, Chloe and Rachel dropped into their own witty, slightly twisted banter about the next Firewalk show, Tempest memories, and plans for the rest of her birthday weekend. While Roberta and Lex chimed in from time to time, it was mostly just the two of them.

Despite the ongoing prick of the needle methodically pushing ink into Chloe's arm, or perhaps because of it, both girls were in their element. The new tattoos, the music, the artists, the shop's glorious vibe of queer rebellion- it filled them both with a wild exuberance even more electrifying than Rachel's first time stage diving!

Getting this tattoo, in this shop, with Rachel by her side, Chloe felt __alive___. _And almost free.

It was an __incredible __feeling!

Hell, maybe it actually was worth it to make it through all the bullshit life kept throwing at her.

She was worth it. __This __was worth it.

The realization made her open up a bit more, too.

As Roberta began work on the upper arm skull, they hit a lull in their banter, and Rachel's curious hazel eyes met Chloe's remarkably joyful blue.

"So… what's it mean?"

"What's what mean?"

"The tattoo! You started drawing it before I even knew you, showed it to me a bajillion times… but we never really talked about what it means."

"Hmm..." Chloe hummed, stalling.

She hadn't planned on telling anyone, really. She'd even spun a number of passable responses for any nosy-ass lookyloos who wanted to know:

Just looks badass.

Just like the colors.

Just put her pen to paper one day, and that's what came out.

Just like it 'cause it's hers, she created it, no one else will have the same tattoo.

But Chloe couldn't bullshit Rachel, not about things that, like, __really __mattered. They trusted each other deeply, so big lies were out of the question.

"Well, drawing the thorns to look like barbed wire is obvious – __don't fuck with me___!_"

Everyone in the shop chuckled, a mischievous glint flashing briefly in Chloe's eyes as she continued.

"The butterflies – well, they'll be blue when it's done, and, __obviously___,_" she added, running her free hand through her hair. "These fuckers are also __hella __hard to catch. There's a whole 'chaos theory' thing, too. But my main idea is, people see a butterfly and think it's kind of girly, you know?"

Her tone grew more serious as she continued, the words pouring rapidly from her lips with the urgency of a revelation. "But in this species, __Morpho amathonte__, only the dude-butterflies are bright blue, and… it's hard to explain. It's like a balance thing? Like – I'm still me – just there's part of me that's kind of, a little, like… 'fuck gender, dude! I do what I want!'"

No one was chuckling, this time.

An almost reverent silence held for several seconds.

Lex peeked over the waist-high barrier into the booth, having listened in.

"__Hell __to the __yeah__! Kickass blue butterflies! Green's more my deal," Lex said, tossing their head back and pretending to flip their hair with a grin, "But I like the way you think, Chloe!"

The shop phone rang, sending Lex shuffling back to their front desk duties, as Rachel placed a hand on the punk's non-tattooed arm.

"You're a badass, Chloe Price," she said softly enough for only the two of them to hear, a sincere and affectionate look in her eyes, "And I love you."

Smiling as she stopped the tattoo gun, Roberta left the booth for another break.

Before the artist had even gone, Rachel pulled Chloe close for a passionate kiss. The punk held on tight, allowing herself to feel every moment of intoxicating desire mixed with deep, loving care.

She'd never mentioned the… the "balance" shit to anyone before. Had been hella worried what her girlfriend might think. As the shorter girl led her outside with a "come hither" gesture, she felt grateful that Rachel accepted this part of her alongside all the others.

By now the air outside was getting crisp, each moment bringing the sky a deeper blue hue as evening twilight slowly approached.

After another perfectly executed Zippo trick, both cigarettes were lit, and Rachel asked Chloe to tell her more about the tattoo if she wanted.

"For the rest of it, there's this mosaic called 'The Skull and the Level' in Pompeii – I saw it on some late-night insomnia special, and I kinda got super into it, you know? Like with my science shit – I just wanted to know __everything __about that damn mosaic from some ancient building across the ocean. Guess it was on my mind, and…"

As Chloe's voice trailed off, Rachel placed a hand on her shoulder, taking a final drag before dropping her smoke in the ashtray outside the shop.

"Totally down for an international field trip," her girlfriend said with a smirk, "And you know I love it when you talk nerdy to me. But what were you about to say…?"

"The skull, well… death, you know? Coming for __all __of us. Dad's… Dad's fuckin' gone. Forever."

Before tears could push their way past her weakened defenses, Chloe closed her eyes tight and drew a deep breath, trying not to sound choked up. "It's not fair. But I'm here, and… and someday I won't be. I once tried __not __to be..."

She shook her head, shoving the thought aside as she continued with steely determination in her voice. "So, like, putting a skull on my arm. It's there to tell me to make the most of whatever time I've got left. __Really __enjoy a wild fucking show, or…" her voice began to tremble as she looked directly into Rachel's eyes with a sudden tenderness in her tone as she continued, "or lying in your arms… because some day it's all gone."

Rachel wrapped Chloe in a warm embrace, holding her close while carefully avoiding the new tattoo.

The blue-haired punk relaxed into her arms, resting her head on her girlfriend's and soaking in the strength, comfort, and understanding she found there.

"Too dark?" Chloe whispered, trying hard to regain her ironic tone.

"Perfect dark," she replied in perfect cadence, a spark of admiration in her eyes.

Giving the punk a tight squeeze before breaking contact, she continued, "Thank you for telling me." Her voice growing purposeful and defiant, she added, "Now that I know – we've got hella more living to do, Price!"

After a quick kiss, Chloe tossed what was left of her own cigarette into the ashtray, and returned inside.

As they walked back in, Chloe immediately noticed the music had shifted to some mellow indie singer-songwriter dealie. Fine by her. By now her walls had all but crumbled, and this song fit her current mood better anyway. Unsurprisingly, its earnest, confessional tone reminded her of the freckle-faced girl who'd filled so many mix CDs with this stuff.

Not gonna lie. Those were incredibly special gifts, too.

Chloe had kept every single one.

Back in the booth, the tattoo gun was back to buzzing, as Roberta continued work on the skull. Just before starting, she'd told Chloe there was only about an hour and a half left to complete the outline – she'd have to come back a few weeks later to start with the color.

It felt good, back there, telling Rachel what this was really about.

Right?

OK, no, it had felt like she was about to break down sobbing in front of a damn tattoo studio.

It was a huge deal to confide in the one person she really trusted, but she'd dipped her toe back into the same deep well of grief she'd nearly drowned in many times before.

Suddenly the sting of the needle felt different.

With each sharp little pain, something was opening up in Chloe's heart. Releasing.

Just gotta let go.

Glancing at her arm and the mostly-completed skull, tears began to flow freely down her cheeks. With a compassionate look in her eye, Rachel handed her a handkerchief as she tried, unsuccessfully, to blink away the impending flood.

"Heya, Chloe?" Roberta said, stopping the gun with a concerned expression, "Is the pain too much? We can take another break, get some numbing cream…"

"Nonono, keep going," Chloe stammered, blood rushing to her cheeks and tinting them bright red as she kept crying, "It's… it's not the pain. It's, uh, personal. But I want to keep going. Please, we need to keep going."

"William?" Rachel asked, her tone sympathetic and her voice just loud enough for the bluenette to hear. Chloe nodded weakly as she continued, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's… I remember what he said now."

"This morning? In your dream?"

"Yeah," Chloe said, swallowing hard and wiping her eyes with the handkerchief, "He knew the tattoo might help me, like, process. He was so chill about me getting inked," she said with an ironic laugh as her tears slowed to a trickle, "He told me, 'You live boldly, you love '__hella__' deeply, and I couldn't be more proud to be your dad._'"_

"Chloe, that's-"

"I know. Right? So, yeah, I'm a mess but it's, like, a good mess? I don't think you know how much you've given me, and I __don't __just mean the gift certificate."

Roberta stopped the gun just long enough for Rachel to lean in and kiss Chloe, holding her hand as she sat back down.

"You're welcome! And-" Rachel said, squeezing her hand, "You __hella __deserve to heal, Chloe. And so much more."

Throughout the final hour of outlining, Chloe felt like a huge, 18-wheeler-sized weight had been lifted from her shoulders. After they'd scheduled their next appointment – a color session for Chloe, and a small wrist tattoo for Rachel – they exchanged fond goodbyes with Lex, Roberta, and Natali before walking out into the parking lot.

Despite the itchy, irritated ache that was setting in throughout both of their new tattoos, Chloe had an entirely new spring in her step.

The whole pre-birthday surprise queer radical tattoo studio thing was ending, but for once, Chloe did not ache for it to last forever. Something major was shifting inside her, and for the rest of the weekend, she couldn't shake three recurring thoughts: that she __did __deserve to heal, she wanted to __keep __loving deeply, and she wanted to make the most of whatever time she had left.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Writing this chapter was one of the most satisfying experiences I've had as an author (especially, part of the LGBTQ community), and as someone who deeply cares for and connects with Chloe's character. I'll say more about the tattoo's symbolism in CH5 notes, but for now, just want to say it brings me a lot of joy to share this perspective on her tattoo through the fic :)

Also, the "Keep Loving, Keep Fighting" poster is a real thing, and credit for the version envisioned in this chapter goes to artist Dalia Shevin.

See you in Chapter 5 – the final chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

****Author's Note: ****This chapter mentions drinking and drug use, and has brief/vague/passing mention of (past) domestic violence. Spotify playlist link for this fic (remove spaces): spoti . fi /2HryvN5

**1st Song: Le Tigre – Keep On Livin'**  
**2nd Song: K's Choice – Come Alive**

**Saturday, May 25, 2012**  
**Arcadia Bay, Oregon**

* * *

"Bull's eye!" Rachel shouted, breaking into a victory dance inside the cramped concrete structure as her dart hit dead-center on the board.

"What? Can't hear you!" Chloe replied, shrugging and cupping a hand over her ear in an exaggerated gesture as the 1337 train loudly chugged along outside.

She had just lost her third game in a row, but throwing back her second beer softened the blow.

There was at least one place left in Arcadia Bay where Chloe felt at peace.

And for this warm, lazy Saturday afternoon, it was enough to spend time with her gloating, grinning girlfriend here in their junkyard hideout.

"I said," Rachel played along, "even if you face crushing defeat every time we play darts-"

"Not __every__t-"

"_Even so_," she cut in, walking a slow circle around Chloe before stopping in front of her with a suggestive wink and pulling her closer, "It's OK. You have other 'talents!'"

"Is that so?" the punk replied, leaning in for the kiss.

Lately they __really __couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Did she see anything to complain about, there?

__Fuck no!__

Half an hour later, they'd moved out into the sunlight. Leaning back against the truck with Rachel at her side, Chloe stopped to show off a new variation on her Zippo trick while lighting up another cigarette. Passing the smoke to her girlfriend, she lit up her own and blew a few smoke rings.

"Nice!" Rachel said, joining in.

Her rings looked… well, the girl needed some practice.

Honestly, Chloe was too distracted watching her full, rounded lips to think much about it.

"Hey, congrats on making it through finals," she said, averting her eyes and bumping the shorter girl's shoulder with her own.

"Thank the moon and stars!" she replied, twirling away from the truck to face Chloe, "I'm sorry I kinda ghosted towards the end. I was __so __stressed, I thought my head might-"

"Burst into flames?" she replied, both girls laughing darkly at the memory. "Don't sweat it. You made it, so, __obviously __we'll have to celebrate. And I actually did some, like, __life shit __while you were trapped in the finals bubble."

"Yeah? Who are you, and what'd you do with my Chloe? You bring her back __now__!" she said in her best deadpan voice before breaking into a fit of giggles and flashing her a proud, encouraging smile.

"I've got one more shot at Blackwell in the Fall. But if I fuck it up- I don't __want __to fuck it up, but… I'm 18 now. Looked into some G.E.D. stuff, and..."

She paused. Her girlfriend had long since stopped giggling, placing a hand on the punk's bare shoulder and rubbing slow circles with her thumb as she quietly waited for her to continue.

With most people, it was much too risky for Chloe to let on that she did shit like this sometimes. And they'd get the wrong idea, no doubt.

It was absofuckinglutely __not __about becoming some conformist-ass mainstream goodcitizen responsibleadult bullshit, hell to the no!

Mostly, it was about getting the fuck out of the house where her violent, controlling step-shit lived. Ever since his post-tattoo rage-a-thon, even __thinking __about "home" put her on edge.

On her good days, she focused on L.A. Their dream! Rachel was already getting a few modeling gigs and small-time roles, making connections.

What was Chloe gonna do when they got there?

What if the truck crapped out?

It usually took a good buzz and some hand-rolled, smokeable stress relief before she could even bear to think much about it. Lately, though, she'd started to face the gaping chasm between her current life and their dreams together __even __when she was stone cold sober.

Taking a long, final drag of her cigarette, Chloe continued, "I looked up some stuff about Bay State. Eligibility, financial aid. But that's like, wayyyyy down the line – and only if we haven't blown this fucking town by then."

When Rachel looked into her eyes, the mix of surprise, pride, love, and deep respect she found there spread a warm tingle through her face and the rest of her body.

She felt __seen___._

It was good, but, kind of fucking uncomfortable?

Her mind flashed to their first days together in this place: the risky, quiet confessions and overwhelming emotions.

She held her breath, waiting for Rachel to, like, __say something___!_

"Chloe, I tell you all the time you're a badass. But I mean it – you are the bravest person I know. And I don't just mean the times you've walked right into danger for me, or how __you __had the guts to stand __here___, _in this junkyard, and tell me how you felt."

Rachel was standing in front of her now, arms wrapped behind her neck, looking her right in the eye.

"I've seen you go through Hell… I know the past just doesn't stop hurting you. But you don't quit. You didn't give up on yourself, or __us__, or our dream. You come back swinging! And real fucking talk? I love you for it."

"Rach, I… I love you, too."

Chloe's hands and lips trembled at first, the slow, shuddering kiss shattering whatever defenses she still had left.

For a long, sweet, sublime moment, the world dropped away around them. When their lips parted, they held one another closely.

The goddamn waterworks were cranking up again, for both of them, but this time Chloe did not fight it. Bright afternoon sunlight reflected off pools in their eyes, streams down their cheeks.

Being in love, like keeping a white-knuckled grip on her sense of hope, was some complicated shit. Messy, unpredictable, often painful. Too damn honest for her own good.

She knew intimately well, it could all be gone in an instant.

She kept loving anyway, kept fighting anyway.

And today, at least? It was hella worth it!

"Anyone sees us like this, it'll totally ruin our rep," Chloe said with a deeply contented smile, pulling away from their embrace and wiping her eyes.

"Can't have that," her girlfriend playfully agreed, pulling out two handkerchiefs.

Within an hour, they'd shared a joint and fallen back into lighthearted teasing. Rachel turned on the hand radio she'd brought from their hideout and tuned it to the only local punk station.

Climbing up to the roof of the truck, both of them belted along to Against Me!, jokingly goading each other to sing louder and get more lyrics right.

Chloe always felt a little stronger, a little more __together__, and little more __Chloe__, looking down from atop her ancient F-150. Being up there with Rachel was that much more invigorating – especially when she laid her legs across the punk's lap.

"That dragon looks __awesome__, Rach!" she said, running her hand along her inked calf, "Even more, now that it's healed."

"The color on your sleeve just blows my mind. This is __art__, Chloe. And those butterflies really bring out your eyes." she replied, reaching to touch her tattooed arm until the punk pulled it away.

"Hey – tattoo foul! Still ticklish there!" she said.

"What can I say? I aim to misbehave!" her girlfriend replied, with several more teasing attempts to touch the final, most recently colored-in part of the sleeve.

"How about you tell me how your wrist's doing instead?" she said, gently swatting away Rachel's hand.

"Oh, this?" she replied, flipping the inside of her left wrist up to show off the small blue-and-black five-pointed star.

"Wow- that came out great, Rach! You're a fast healer, too," Chloe said, admiring her girlfriend's newest ink. "Nautical star, right? We got interrupted back at the shop – what were you saying it's about? I mean, I know you like stars anyway, just thought you said-"

"It's like this," she replied, clasping Chloe's hands in her own, "Last year, I felt a __ton __of pressure to try to 'tone it down,' you know? Pretend I'm as straight as everyone says I look?"

She listened quietly, gently squeezing Rachel's hand as she continued.

Part of her wanted to tell her girlfriend, who cares what anyone thinks?

She wanted to say, point me to 'em, I'll get them to shut the fuck up.

But today, she wanted to give her the same space she'd been given, to react __her __way. And, of course, to talk about what that tattoo meant to her.

"Steph taught me this star is, like, a queer women's symbol from the fifties. They used it to find each other out in the world, like a secret code. And it reminds me what it felt like in the Black Labrys, and what it feels like here with you. I just… I get to be __me__. No pressure, no bullshit."

She nodded thoughtfully, planting a kiss on Rachel's cheek before remarking with an impish grin, "...and it's blue?"

"Yes, Chloe. 'And it's blue,'" she replied, her tone still serious, "And I meant what I said before. I'm __proud __to be your girlfriend. I don't want to hide that, ever."

She sighed happily, saying "Good. Me, neither. I'm… I just. My life is way fucking better with you in it. And it really __is__a sweet tattoo."

They passed the rest of the afternoon in the junkyard talking, plotting, laughing, kissing, drinking, smoking, and messing around. They were fucking hyped to see Firewalk at The Polaris next weekend, but other than that, it was a typical Saturday. Eventually they moved from the roof to the blanket-covered bed of the truck, then back into the shack. Sometime after sunset, they shared dinner at Two Whales before she dropped Rachel off.

For the first time she could remember, Chloe did not feel a crushing ache in the center of her chest as Rachel kissed her goodbye and disappeared through her parents' front door.

__Of course __she didn't want the day to end.

__Of course __she wanted to stay close to Rachel.

And, sure as shit, she could never know what fresh Hell tomorrow might bring.

But now, pushing back against all her fear, doubt, and constant anticipation of loss – now she heard two voices and saw one skull tattoo.

Rachel's voice, which told her she's brave, and loved, and never gives up.

Dad's voice, which told her she could love deeply, and that he was hella proud of her.

And the full-color, completely healed skull tattooed on her arm – which had helped her enjoy the afternoon while it lasted, and told her there was still time left to feel, to hurt, to thrash, to love.

To __live__.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading! And double thank you to beta reader, escherlat :)

Originally published at AO3 on 3/11/19, Chloe's 25th birthday. Memento Mori is my first Chloe POV fic, as well as my first time writing Amberprice, but won't be my last! Poured quite a bit of personal perspective into this one, plus a long history of overanalyzing LiS symbolism & Chloe's character. Credit for connecting Chloe's tattoo to the mosaic, and for naming the species of butterfly, goes to Geek Remix on YouTube.

I welcome any encouraging feedback, constrictive criticism, or respectful comments & questions.

"Keep on livin'!"


End file.
